Chapter 7: Stranglehold
Blood, Sweat, and Fears
At the next bend, Tom leaned back against the wadi wall and hoisted Mike up. The ground was flat, hard packed earth the color of sand. Like snakes slithering across the ground, wadis branched off all meandering south created by torrential rains in the mountains to the north.
Mike ducked down. “Bring me down.”
Tom pushed himself off the wall and followed Mike. “What’d you see up there.” They were trotting now, trying to save energy.
“Some asshole looking back at me.”
“Okay,” Tom said. “We won’t be able to move up there, but they’ll be afraid to do it too.”
They jogged to the next bend. Periodically, Mike ran backward to keep watch. It slowed them down, but better the alternative.
The hard packed earth turned to sand. Mike slowed down. There were two sets of tracks in the sand ahead of them. “Look down.”
“Al and Julia.” Tom shifted over. “If there’s a fork ahead?”
“Run in one set I’ll run in the other.” Mike turned and picked up the pace. “We’ll try to make it look like all four of us are still together but stepping in each other's tracks.”
Shots rang out behind them. They sounded like sharp high pitched snaps as they passed by and impacted the far wall in front of them. Without looking, they sprinted. One round hit a rock, dislodging it, and a small avalanche of dirt and rock fell to the ground in front of them.
The corner was close. They leaned in and jumped around the protection of the dirt wall. AK rounds followed them. Mike spun and dropped to his chest, and crawled forward, exposing only his rifle and head to the enemy. He fired three quick shots and pulled back.
Machine gun fire slammed into the bend in the wadi. It was a long burst. Mike waited until the blast was over, pulled himself forward, and looked around the corner. The Afghani’s were all laying down in the wadi except for one. The RPG gunner raised to a knee.
“RPG!” Mike pulled back.
The RPG boomed the impact was almost instantaneous as the grenade struck the newly formed mound of dirt they had dodged around. The rocket buried itself in the pile of soft soil.
Mike's mouth formed a small oh, his eyebrows high. He sighed a low whistle.
“Forgot to prime it.” Tom grinned. “Stupid fuck.”
“Let’s not wait for the next one.”
At the next bend, Mike peeked around into the straightaway they’d run through. Rifle fire continued to thunder down the wadi. Their last position was getting slammed. The dirt wall they'd hidden behind was falling apart under the continuous shooting. Dirt and rock dislodged and fell into a pile. A cloud of dust grew to the point the destruction became challenging to see through. A bullet whined off a rock and struck the opposite wall.
He pulled back. “Let’s go.”
They jogged for the next bend.
“They’re getting smart,” Tom said over uneven breaths. “They’re firing into the bend while they maneuver against us.”
“Yeah.” Mike wiped the sweat from his face, gulping air as he ran. “This isn’t going to work. They are going to overwhelm us sooner than later. We’ll run out of ammo. Then we’ll be done.”
Tom lifted his arm and awkwardly dragged his hat across his face as he ran, wiping the sweat away. He didn’t have a response.
They rounded the next bend and stood at a fork in the dry river bed. The ground was sand in both directions.
The rifle fire behind them slowed. Only one or two men now shot, but it was sustained and getting closer.
Mike ripped off his Afghani garb. He angled his eyes at Tom’s man-dress. “Pull that thing off.”.
Sweat soaked man-dress in hand, Mike moved to the opposite fork where Al and Julia’s tracks stood out in the sand and dragged his sweaty shirt across the ground to blur out his and Tom’s tracks. Crouched down, he shuffled backward into the adjacent wadi and wiped the sand where his boots left imprints. He stopped and looked up.
Tom stood and watched his mouth half open.
“Follow me.”
“We’re going to…”
Al and Julia’s tracks remained pristine and evident in the sand.
“Hurry up.”
Tom looked at the tracks Al and Julia had made, then followed Mike’s lead. All evidence their group had split up disappeared as they backed up down the second fork in the wadi.
The enemy rifle fire would have echoed down the wadi, Al and Julia were sure to have increased their pace. At least Mike assumed so if they could. The AK and M-4 made distinctive sounds when fired, Al would know it wasn’t him and Tom doing all the shooting. He’d be pushing Julia to her limit.
Behind him, Tom wiped away his tracks backward until his feet landed on a patch of hard-packed dirt. Mike wiped the sandy tracks faster and made his way to the cracked, sun-dried surface. Once he stood on solid ground, they ran for the next bend. The AK gunfire was closer. Around the corner, they plopped down their soaked shirts against the dirt wall. Mike sucked air until he finally was able to breathe quietly through his nose. All they could do was listen. Peeking around would have been suicide.
The echo of the rifle fire changed. They were at the intersection. One man fired his rifle. The high pitched crack and echo sounded wrong. He was firing into the wadi Al and Julia had gone down.
The rifle fired once more and went silent. Mike looked over at Tom’s worried face. They didn’t dare look around. After the high pitched sound of gunfire, then a short silence, shouted voices echoed down the wadi. The men yelling at each other was a welcome relief in one sense. They didn’t know what to do. But, they might decide to split up and go down each wadi.
Tom shrugged and checked his magazine.
It sounded like an argument. Mike glanced at Tom, who smirked back.
Let them argue and waste time, Mike though.
One man raised his voice, and the decision was made. The two men strained to hear. The words held no meaning for them, but the tone was unmistakable. The leader of the group took charge and organized his men into the formation he wanted.
Mike held his rifle tighter, lifted the butt to his shoulder, and ran his finger along the trigger guard, ready to pull the trigger.
No more voices carried down the wadi. It was all quiet until something metal hit the stock of an AK. Next, something clanked against an ammo can. The leader’s angry shout got his men’s attention. It was the noise untrained and undisciplined soldiers made as they moved. They didn’t hear it again, but it seemed clear, the Afghanis now followed Al and Julia’s tracks.
A long exhale escaped Tom, then he squirmed over and sneaked a look. He pulled his head back and then stuck it out again. “Looks like their all going down the other channel.”
“Good.”
Tom leaned against the wall. “Now what?”
“We follow them.” Mike stood, “And kill them.”
"Good." Tom looked around the bend again. “It’s still not going to be easy, they outnumber us, and we’re running low.” He tapped his magazine with his finger.
“Nope, it isn’t. The machine gun is the key. It’s hot, that thing is heavy, and they’re just as tired as we are. Hopefully, the gunner is starting to drag hanging back a little. We’ll try to kill him first, quietly if possible.” Mike shrugged. “Anyway, when it happens, that gun will be an equalizer.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Tom's head dropped and raised. “Not much of a plan, but it is a plan.” He lifted the sandy, wet, man dress. “What do you want to do with these?”
“Ditch them. I think the proverbial jig is up.”
Tom reached up and took the roll-up hat off his head. He rubbed the sweat and dirt off his face with it and threw it, the vest, and the man dress to the ground. The pants were next.
Mike dried his face off with a dry spot from his man dress and threw it in the dirt next to Tom’s. “I’m keeping the hat.” He lifted the hat over his head with a half smile. “I don’t want to get a sunburn.”
Tom grinned. “I get it. Skin cancer can be a killer.” The grin left his face. “Let’s go get busy.”
Heat waves rose from the baked, hard earth of the dry river bed the bad guys took. The empty ravine reminded Mike of a lot of other places in Afghanistan, dirty, dusty, and empty of life. This time the circumstances couldn’t have been worse, they couldn’t call for support, they were barely armed, and they were outnumbered. And they were tired, dehydrated, and the sun was doing its best to beat them down even more.
Mike remained on his feet as looked around the corner and into the wadi the bad guys had taken. He knew he should have gotten down on his belly to look. Anyone watching would have their eyes directed at head height, but he was too damn tired to lay down. They were out of sight for now, soon he would need all of his energy reserves. Without looking back for Tom, he began to run. It quickly turned into an airborne shuffle, a slow one at that. They’d still be faster than the Afghanis ahead of them. If they were smart, they would be looking for any kind of ambush.
At the next bend, Tom passed him and dropped to look around the corner. He was up almost immediately moving forward. Mike followed, listening for any tell-tale noises of troops on the advance ahead of them. Scattered among the tracks, Mike saw blood in the sand and dirt. Whoever was bleeding in front of them wasn’t suffering enough to lie down. But was it enough he needed help to move? He snapped his fingers and pointed down. Tom looked back, traced the arm, and saw the dark drops of blood. He nodded and kept up the pace slowing only as they approached the next bend.
Mike passed him and sneaked a look down the next section of the wadi. Two men were rounding the next corner. One man leaned on the other as they walked. He was limping, his man dress bloody. Mike faced around. Sweat streamed down Tom’s brow in dirty rivulets.
“Two men, one wounded.”
They picked up the pace to the next bend. The two Afghani’s were halfway down to the next curve. Mike pulled back and put his finger to his lips. With his hand, he signaled he would go right toward the wounded man Tom would go left toward the man helping.
Rifles at the ready, they slipped around onto the sandy surface of the river bed. The men ahead of them were oblivious to what was coming. Mike knew it couldn’t last. The two were talking, one encouraging the other. They would recognize something was coming soon enough that sixth sense everyone has when they feel someone's eyes on them would kick in. That feeling always made a person look, and the wounded man did.
The wounded man yelled a warning and pushed off the other man. Mike didn’t aim his weapon. He didn’t want the sound of his rifle to alert the men ahead. He grabbed the end of the barrel with both hands, lifted it over his head, and heaved it at the injured man. The Afghani's flinched and ducked. The rifle sailed end over end between the separating Afghani’s. Out of the corner of his eye, Mike saw Tom come up fast on his man as he faltered for his weapon.
Tom’s man was one of the RPG gunners. He raised the rocket launcher a few inches, then dropped it realizing it would be useless at this range. His other hand reached down, struggling to pull his knife from his belt. He wasn’t fast enough. Tom speared the man in the face with the muzzle of his rifle and crashed into him. The man tried to scream until Tom’s body fell on top of him, knocking the wind out of him. He tried to fight the quick short hammer blows to his neck, his hand taking the brunt of Tom’s strikes. Rifle flipped around, Tom crushed the man’s skull with several hard blows with the butt of his weapon.
Mike heard the shriek and the struggle next to him. The man in front of him stumbled on his wounded leg as he tried to stand. That didn’t stop him from tearing the slung AK-47 off his shoulder. The barrel sliced upward. Mike dropped his hand and slapped the front of the wounded Afghani’s weapon away. He ran dead into the man, toppled him, and fell over him. The man tried to pull the gun out from between them, but it was too long, and he couldn’t get the end of the barrel pointed at Mike. Desperate, he let it go and hit Mike in the ribs. The first fist landed on Mike’s right side, then another to his left ribcage. The wounded man was strong and ready. Mike was ready too.
There was no freaking way he was going to allow these men to catch up to Al and Julia. Mike outweighed the Afghani, but that hardly mattered. There are no weight classes in a fight to the death. Rules and sportsmanship were for the ring. He struggled on top of the Afghani for a better position. He let the man hit him in the ribs while he slid his hands past the man’s chest and locked them around his throat. The Afghani kept hitting him, and it hurt like hell. The man's neck was hot and sweaty in Mike’s hands. The black beard scratched his hands as he cliched down.
The Afghani realized he was in trouble and stopped punching. He grabbed Mike’s wrists and tried to pull them away from his neck. The injured man pulled Mike’s hands off with a burst of strength. Mike jerked his grip back into place, catching a part of the man’s beard as he tightened his grip. Face red, the wounded Afghani again pulled Mike’s hands off his neck. Mike used his body to drive his hands down and wrap his fingers around the man’s windpipe. They made eye contact. The beginnings of desperation crept into his opponent’s face. The man tried again to get the hands off his neck but couldn’t. He bucked left and right, trying to upset Mike's balance. The Afghani’s grip on his wrists loosened. With the rest of his strength, Mike cinched down to finish the man. The Afghani continued to struggle, but he had nothing left. Drops of sweat fell off Mike’s nose onto the man’s cheek, Mike focused on that as he choked the life out of the wounded man.
The Army had taught him many things, to kill one of them. They’d trained him to call in bombs on people, shoot them from a distance or up close, use a knife, and even some hand-to-hand. Shooting a man was one thing. You almost got to the point where you became hardened to it. But watching the emotions cross the Afghani’s face as he died was something else. He’d never killed with his bare hands before. Maybe he’d become hardened to that too.
He breathed deep and hard as Tom slowly walked over. Mike pushed off the Afghan, straightened his back, and straddled the corpse. His boots were half buried in the sand.
Tom reached over, and Mike took the offered hand. He stepped over and away from the body. His gaze found the man Tom had finished.
“Fuck,” Mike said. He bent over, hands on knees, and took a couple more deep gasps.
“Yeah.”
With one last deep inhale, he held it, then let it out. “Let’s get going. Hopefully, they didn’t hear.” That had better be the case, he thought. With the AK and RPG, they were better armed than they had been a minute ago. They still were outnumbered and outgunned.
Tom stripped the bandoleer from the RPG gunner and looped the vest over his back. It had one round left in it and a rocket in the RPG. He held the RPG launcher in one hand and his rifle in the other. Mike slung his M-4 across his back, picked up the AK, and took a spare magazine off the person he’d killed. The spare magazine went into his back pocket.
“We’re a little better off now.”
They ran to the next bend of the wadi, and neither glanced back.
The sandal tracks of the men ahead of them clumped together, masking their numbers. Above the rim of the wadi, the terrain was empty, at least devoid of bad guys. There was no sound from the wadi around the corner, no running footsteps, no equipment clanking. They got lucky the two stragglers were so far behind their comrades.
With a quick peek, Mike saw the last two of their quarry almost rounding the next bend. They appeared to be arguing, which ended when one of them pointed back in Mike’s direction. Mike pulled back. Maybe not so lucky, but he felt sure they hadn’t been seen him.
Making eye contact with Tom, he lifted two fingers. On his belly, Mike inched forward and wedged an eye around the corner. One man was in the middle of the wadi double timing back to their position. The other stood at the bend. Concern mixed with anticipation on his face.
Mike stood back flat to the dirt wall. “Get ready,” he mouthed, “one’s coming.”
Tom leaned the RPG against the side of the wadi.
“I’m going to throw him to you,” Mike barely whispered. He turned back. The Afghan was close. His ragged breath announced his arrival seconds before his arrival.
The Afghani rounded the corner and stumbled. His eyes shot wide open. These were not the men he was expecting to see.
Mike pushed off the wall, his hands pounded the man's chest, his fingers latching into the bad guy’s clothing. The enemy soldier tried to shout, but Mike slammed him into Tom, causing the man’s body to tighten. He was only able to get out a throat clearing noise. A big arm reached around his throat. The other hand knocked the AK out of his hands, then went over his mouth.
His buddy at the next bend either saw him snatched out of sight, or he heard the guttural sound or both. He shouted down the wadi after his friend. His voice echoed the man’s unease.
Mike reached to his side and drew a sheath knife secured on his belt. The man's hands dropped from the arm around his neck and tried to grab Mike's wrist. He was too late. Tom held the struggling man firm while the knife went under his ribs and found the heart. Mike wiggled the blade, the tip cutting the heart into pieces. A bloody blob blurted out of the enemy soldier's mouth into Tom’s hand and arm.
Tom dropped him to the ground.
The bloody blade stayed in the man’s chest as Mike picked up his AK. The shout behind them had changed. It was no longer directed toward them. The man was calling in the rest of their pursuers.
Mike had killed with a knife before. It had been up close and personal like this one. It wasn’t easy or fun, but things like that were never a consideration. It was always a split second between death, yours or his. And Mike wasn’t here to die. Not yet. If it came to it, he had a mission to complete, kill Baabaa Hotak, and these people weren't going to stop him. A silent snarl curled his lips. No one was going to stop him from that.
After a quick glance toward the Afghanis behind them, Mike nodded to himself. He was done with the cat-and-mouse game.
“Five of them coming down the center of the wadi.” His hand motioned to the RPG. “The rest of them are standing around watching, not ready. Fire a rocket into the far wall. When they hit the ground, we’ll shoot as many as possible.”
Tom leaned his new AK against the dirt wall, checked the rocket, and put the launcher on his shoulder. Mike tapped him on the head, and Tom leaned out and fired.
The rocket plowed into the dirt wall between the far group of men and exploded. An RPG rocket is a shape charge. The bulk of the energy went straight into the wall. Dirt and dust flew up and out. The wall collapsed, dirt cascading down onto the river bed. The concussion from the blast drove some of the men at the wall down to the ground the rest hurled themselves down.
Mike jumped out, lying prone, and fired. On his knee, Tom fired his AK into the enemy. Of the five in the middle, two dropped and fired unaimed rounds, hoping to hit their attackers. The other three threw themselves to the ground and cowered. The others behind stood up after the explosion. They were the first to die.
Mike fired until his magazine was empty. He rolled behind the bend, the crack of bullets flying past him, propelling him to the safety of the wadi’s wall. Tom drew back, dropped his empty, and put a full magazine in the rifle.
The machine gun opened up and began chewing up the dirt wall they were hiding behind.
“We’re not going to play hide and seek with these guys anymore,” Mike said. “There’s still too many of them for a stand-up knockdown.” He exhaled as he stood. “This is our kill zone.” His finger pointed down the riverbed toward the last bend they’d come from. “Boost me up, then get around that bend. When you hear me shoot, come around, and we’ll have them in a crossfire.”
Without reply, Tom leaned his back against the wall and cupped his hands. Mike stepped in. Tom grunted as he lifted. They were both tired. The running, shooting, and stress of combat were taking a toll on their bodies. If they didn’t end this soon, exhaustion and dehydration would be on. It wouldn't be long after that mistakes would happen. The Army had a way of training you to deal with combat stress and exhaustion. You learned your limits and how to function in dire situations. It was a matter of time. The enemy was fresher. They hadn’t been driving most of the night, were doing the chasing, and were used to the dry heat.
Above the lip of the wadi wall, Mike lay on his back, closed his eyes, and listened. He wiggled away from the edge of the wadi and rolled onto his stomach. With deep, slow, quiet breaths to calm himself, Mike waited. The sound of Tom’s boots striking the ground faded as he ran to the next bend. He strained to hear the other men. Several spoke but not for long or loud enough to get a fix. They were still in the same stretch where Tom and he had ambushed them.
Sweat dripped off his face as he listened, the sun baking the back of his neck. If he tried to pull his collar up, the enemy might have heard him or detected his movement, so he let the sun bake down on his exposed skin. Sandals pushed through the sand. They were close. They weren’t trying to be quiet. The first man stopped at the bend below him. Mike held his breath and remained dead still. The man paused, then moved forward.
He wanted them between him and Tom in the center, so he waited. Seconds felt like minutes until he couldn’t stand it and peeked down over the edge. There were seven of them. A few more must have been behind the bend in the wadi. They were in a loose spread-out formation closer to Tom than he expected. Rifle in his shoulder, he brought the barrel down and pointed it into the back of the last man. The gun fired, and the man fell before he could utter a warning. Shifting, he shot again and hit the next man. The rest turned and fired up at him. Their rounds hit the wall under him and snapped overhead.
As Mike pulled back, Tom opened up. There was a lull from the surprised Afghanis, who turned around into Tom’s fire. Mike rolled over twice into a new position and brought his rifle out, seeking a target. There were three left alive. They had nowhere to run and no cover to hide behind. It could have been comical as the three heads darted back and forth. None of them could decide which way to shoot. Mike’s plunging fire and Tom’s AK made short work of them.
Mike watched the bodies lying immobile to ensure they were all dead.
Satisfied, he wearily crawled over to the other edge of the wadi. At the far end, he noted the blast from the RPG had killed one of them. He’d have to check to make sure the man wasn’t unconscious.
He sat on the ledge and prepared to drop down.
“Check th…” he had to clear his throat. Louder than he anticipated, he tried again. “Check those guys, weapons, ammo, radios, cell phones. I’ll check the guys back there.” He lifted his hand and pointed back with his thumb.
Tom nodded, and Mike dropped to the ground. His knees ached as they bent from the fall. He was tired. Slowly, he walked over and checked the men. He inspected and confiscated what was on each of his assigned dead men. He filled his pockets and hands with what was worth taking and met Tom in the middle.
Thank You for Reading!
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